


Anniversary

by Sophtly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Future Fic, Grief, Love Letters, M/M, Wolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-23 10:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4873141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophtly/pseuds/Sophtly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek always spends the anniversary of his family’s death alone, other than the years when he still had Laura, still had family left to mourn with. Now he just has another person to mourn. He makes sure he has everything he needs in his apartment because he knows he won’t go out. Not that he needs much. There are not many supplies required to sit in one place and think about everything you’ve lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Derek always spends the anniversary of his family’s death alone, other than the years when he still had Laura, still had family left to mourn with. Now he just has another person to mourn. He makes sure he has everything he needs in his apartment because he knows he won’t go out. Not that he needs much. There are not many supplies required to sit in one place and think about everything you’ve lost.

He wakes up aching, a hurt that settles into every part of his body and won’t let up. Sometimes he wonders if this would be easier if he had someone, anyone, to fill the void, the giant gaping hole that his family left. It doesn’t help anything to dwell on the fact that he doesn’t though. It is what it is. Tomorrow he will go back to going through the paces, trying to do the right thing and failing more often than not. Today however, he’ll allow himself to wallow. He needs a day where he doesn’t have to fight. So he drags himself out of bed and pulls on sweatpants and an old ratty tank top and heads to the kitchen.

Food isn’t appealing. He takes a few swallows of water and pads out to the living room and flops on the couch. If history is any indicator, he’ll probably be here most of the day, staring at nothing while his mind brings up image after image that will haunt him for nights to come. It’s still early in the morning. He has hours of this ahead of him, and it’s not healthy, he knows that, but he can’t stop himself, doesn’t have any will left to change anything.

He’s in such a fog he doesn’t notice anyone approaching the loft until he hears a key in the lock. _Stiles_ he thinks, recognizing his heartbeat immediately. He wants to be angry. Can’t he be left alone for one day? What could Stiles possibly need? He’s probably forgotten what day it is. Anger takes too much energy though, so he stays seated and doesn’t say anything when Stiles walks in the door. He’s carrying a sack full of groceries and he nods at Derek, not bothering with a greeting as he heads to the kitchen and starts emptying the bag out onto the counter.

Derek figures it’s Stiles, a long rambling explanation of what exactly he’s doing is going to be forthcoming any moment now, but Stiles stays silent except for humming under his breath a bit as he works. The raised bar is blocking Derek’s view of Stiles’s hands, so he’s not sure exactly what he’s doing, but he hears the distinct pop of a pre-made biscuit container being opened and finds himself smiling when Stiles jumps. It’s been years since he’s smiled on this day.

That thought brings him back to exactly what this day is and he sinks back down into misery, scowling at the floor. Stiles is bumping around in the kitchen, muttering to himself as he finds a pan and puts ingredients in that Derek can’t make out. He’s got the oven heating already and sighs with satisfaction when it beeps just as he’s about to slide a pan into it. He still has no clue what Stiles is making, but by the time Stiles has done a few more steps, the house is smelling like warm butter and sugar and Derek’s mouth waters. Stiles’s hands tap on the counter as he waits, but other than that, it’s quiet. He thinks about asking Stiles what exactly he thinks he’s doing here, but he decides to wait it out. If Stiles is actually being silent, he figures he should take advantage and see how long it takes him to crack.

He loses track of time and place for a while after that, and he startles when he realizes Stiles is standing in front of him. He’s holding a plate with biscuits covered in what appears to be some sort of gooey caramel sauce and pecans, a glass of milk in his other hand which he sets down on the end table beside Derek. He takes the offered plate, his stomach rumbling. Stiles shoots him a small smile and then goes back to the kitchen. Derek sees him sneak his own roll, eating it with his fingers and licking them off like he’s seven years old instead of nineteen. Derek eats his own with the provided fork and it’s good. Sweet and unhealthy in the best way.

Stiles collects his plate when he’s done and cleans up the kitchen while Derek sits and thinks. The faces of those he’s lost start crowding his mind again. There’s new faces as the years go by because apparently it’s his lot in life to lose people like it’s his fault. It _feels_ like his fault. He hates that the faces of his family are getting harder to remember. He hates that Kate not only stole them from him, but also burned up all the pictures he had of them. There’s nothing left but a hole he can’t fill no matter how hard he tries.

Stiles surprises him by sitting down near him on the couch. He looks at Derek for a long minute and then he’s manhandling him until his head is in Stiles’s lap. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t protest. Maybe because to simply be touched feels so amazing, he can’t help but melt into it. It’s been too long. Stiles’s fingers start carding through his hair, slow strokes that make Derek want to whimper with relief. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Stiles produces a tissue from somewhere and offers it to him. He hasn’t cried on this day in years, has only been able to suffer the unbearable ache in silence. Suddenly he’s sobbing.

“Shh,” Stiles says, “Shhh, you’re gonna be okay.” Derek has never seen Stiles this soft, this sweet. He’s usually all hard angles and sarcasm. He didn’t know Stiles could be this tender. He didn’t know how much he needed it. He clutches Stiles’s leg as he cries and Stiles keeps petting his hair and rubbing his back in small circles. How long has it been since he’s felt this safe? How long since he’s allowed the raw places inside of himself to be open to another person? When he’s all cried out, his eyes are heavy and he lets them fall shut without another thought, sleep falling as swiftly as his tears had.

When he wakes up Stiles is puttering around the kitchen again. He smiles at Derek when he sees him watching him and brings out a glass of water, making sure he drinks it all before he takes the glass back. Derek hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. Usually on this day he doesn’t eat and barely drinks. Usually there is no one to take care of him. Apparently, today is not a usual day. That’s a point emphasized when Stiles reaches out and casually rakes his fingers through Derek’s hair, like this is something they do all the time. “Food’s almost ready, big guy. You hungry?” Derek can only nod, the wolf inside whining, not wanting Stiles to stop touching him.

It’s getting dark outside. He must have slept for a long time. He wonders what Stiles got up to while he was sleeping, but everything in the loft looks the same. Then he notices Stiles’s laptop on the table. That explains how he stayed occupied. “You want to eat at the table or stay where you are?” Stiles asks. He gets up and sits at the table and an answer, not trusting his voice to speak. Stiles brings in a steaming casserole dish, cheese still bubbling on the top layer. Is that bacon he sees mixed in there? He might have to marry Stiles.

“I made some salad too, just to counteract all that cheesy goodness,” Stiles tells him, setting a large bowl of salad down on the table as well.

“Thanks,” Derek gets out. His voice sounds rough and he feels fragile using it, like it will somehow break whatever spell this is that brought Stiles here.

“Any time,” Stiles says back, sounding like he means it. They dig in and the food is delicious. “Cheesy potato casserole,” Stiles informs him. His voice drops, barely more than a whisper, as if he’s confiding a secret. “My mom used to make it for me when I was sad.” Derek locks eyes with him, hoping his eyes can convey his thoughts better than usual, and if the way Stiles’s mouth curves up is any indication, he’s managed to say what he needed to say.

It’s the best meal he’s had in a while, the bright crunchy salad a perfect counterpart to the rich gooey potatoes. He hasn’t been taking particularly good care of himself lately. He still works out every day, harder than ever really, but he hasn’t been eating or drinking properly. Hardly at all, now that he thinks about it. It strikes him then that he’s been punishing himself. It’s his job to take care of others, not himself. They deserve it, he doesn’t. It seems like simple logic, but Stiles, as always, is making him doubt himself.

He helps Stiles clean up the kitchen this time, scraping the leftover casserole into a container while Stiles covers the salad, then washing the dishes while Stiles dries. It’s easy and natural and Derek doesn’t understand why. Sure, they’ve become friends over the years and Derek knows that what he feels for Stiles isn’t strictly friendship, but this isn’t anything he saw coming. Not today. Probably not ever. He’s not going to lie to himself, he’s thought about it. Thought about having Stiles in his life, in his home. Thought about what it would be like to wake up beside him or sit and watch a movie with Stiles’s head resting on his shoulder. Thought about grocery shopping and spending holidays together and a hundred other sappy, couple-type things he’d never admit to anyone out loud. He’s never thought of it is as a real possibility though.

“So,” Stiles says when they’re done, “I should probably go.” He doesn’t look like he wants to all that much. His body is leaning slightly toward Derek, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Don’t go,” Derek finds himself saying. Stiles flashes those big brown eyes up at him and Derek closes the space between them, cupping Stiles’s face as softly and reverently as he can. “Stay,” he says, and kisses him.

Stiles responds, a soft whimper coming out of his throat, before he’s pushing him away gently. “Derek, don’t,” and Derek feels his heart plunge until Stiles continues speaking. “You’re emotionally compromised. You’d probably kiss anyone who made you feel better today. It’s not about me.” He looks down, cheeks flushing red and Derek thinks he has never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

“Stiles,” Derek says, holding Stiles’s chin in his hand and forcing him to meet his gaze, “It’s always been about you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that what you did today was amazing, so much more than I could have ever asked for, but I’ve been thinking about you, about _us_ for a long time.”

“You have?”

Stiles’s hand is shaking and Derek reaches out and takes ahold of his wrist. He holds it carefully, thumb brushing back and forth across the soft skin on the underside of it before he lifts it to his lips and presses a kiss against it, then again on Stiles’s forearm. It’s Stiles’s sharp inhale that brings him back to his senses. “Sometimes it’s all I think about.”

Stiles’s voice is husky when he replies. “Me too.” His free hand comes up to curl around Derek’s neck, pulling him forward until their foreheads are touching. “Derek.” He says the name like a caress, and Derek’s heart flip flops wildly in his chest.

“Stiles,” he says. They stand there for a long moment doing nothing more than holding each other. Derek’s hand is still on Stiles’s wrist, Stiles’s hand around his neck, their foreheads pressed together. They stand and they breathe and Derek still hurts, but it’s muted. Stiles finally frees his other hand and wraps both his arms around Derek’s neck, tilting his head to slot their mouths together, his tongue swiping along Derek’s lower lip until Derek lets him in, lets the wet warmth of Stiles’s mouth fill his heart with something other than sadness.

“Wow,” Stiles says when he finally pulls back. He’s gasping for air a little, face flushed.

He can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face as he brushes one more kiss against Stiles’s mouth. “Will you spend the night? Not sex,” he adds quickly, seeing Stiles’s face, “Not that I don’t- anyway, just with me, just sleeping in the same bed. Would you?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, tension melting out of his body. “I’d like that.”

Derek is all too happy to lend Stiles his softest pair of pajama bottoms and sighs with satisfaction as Stiles curls up next to him on the couch. They end up marathoning Mythbusters and Derek doesn’t even mind Stiles’s running commentary during the whole show, too distracted by the warmth of the body next to him, the way his soft hair tickles Derek’s shoulder when he moves, or how he occasionally drops a kiss on Derek’s arm, presses their fingers together. All the constant touches make Derek’s wolf sit up and wag its tail, push into the touches like it’s starving for it.

When Stiles starts yawning, his head falling heavier on his shoulder, Derek forces them both up to get ready for bed. He gives Stiles his spare toothbrush and use of the bathroom and sits on the bed, enjoying the feeling of having someone else around in the quiet, intimate space that late night creates. When he finishes his own night time ritual, he finds Stiles already under the covers. “Is this side alright?” Stiles asks around a yawn.

Derek assures him that it is and crawls into the other side, turning off the light and trying to calm his body down. Having Stiles in his bed is harder to handle than he thought it would be. It’s bringing up emotions he’s been working years to suppress. That, combined with everything else about today, is making sleep impossible. He flops back and forth on the bed, trying out his back, both sides, but nothing fits right. He feels tight and itchy under his skin, the urge to shift into his wolf too strong.

“Dude, what is wrong with you?” Stiles mumbles, he flings a hand out and smacks lightly at Derek’s stomach. “If this is how you always are when you’re trying to go to sleep, we might have to rethink sleeping arrangements.”

“No, I’m not always like this,” Derek snaps before catching himself and gentling his tone. “When I have a lot of emotions or things I don’t know how to deal with, it gets hard not to shift. My wolf gets restless. Or I get restless for my wolf, I don’t know which.”

Stiles props himself up on his elbow, eyebrows knitting together. “Are you saying today was a bad thing?”

“No, I’m saying today was a lot for me to handle because as _someone_ keeps pointing out, dealing with and talking about my feelings isn’t my strong point. Sometimes when I get like this it helps if I shift into my wolf.”

“Then do it,” Stiles says, as if it’s that simple.

“But _you’re_ here.”

“Thank you for pointing that out, Captain Obvious. You’re not going to hurt me, right? And I’ve seen your wolf. It’s awesome. It won’t be the first time I’ve shared a bed with a four-legged creature. We can cuddle.”

“You’re going to cuddle with my wolf.”

“Well, you know, only if he’s down with it.”

The wolf wags its tail eagerly and Derek knows it’s going to be more than okay with spending the night curled around Stiles. “Fine,” he says, giving in to Stiles and his own wants, “Just turn around, I have to get undressed for this.”

“Really?” Stiles whines, “I have to turn around? That’s just mean.”

He rolls his eyes and Stiles turns around dutifully while Derek strips quickly and efficiently. It usually takes a while to get into the mind-set for the full shift, but tonight the wolf is so close all he has to do is let go and it’s washing over him in a wave, more painless than it has ever been. He’s up on the bed in one smooth bound, Stiles bouncing up and down from the weight of it. He licks a long stripe up Stiles’s neck and he flails, flopping over while wiping at his neck.

“Gross!” He says, but Derek ignores him and licks the side of his face instead. “Stop it!” Stiles commands, but he’s laughing now, wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck and burying his face in the thick hair. When he flops on his back, Derek rests his head on his stomach and Stiles pets him, the wolf letting out little sighs and whines of contentment. “Okay handsome,” Stiles says, “Let’s get some sleep.” It’s not long before Stiles’s hand is slowing and then stopping, his breaths coming long and deep as he falls into sleep, Derek following quickly after.

He wakes out of a dream where he’s giving Stiles a handjob, and as if that’s not enough, he’s shifted back in his sleep and there’s a rather impressive boner tenting the sheets where he’s sprawled out on his back. With any luck he can get dressed before Stiles wakes up- and no. Of course Stiles is already awake, propped up on one elbow and watching Derek, eyes dark. He runs his tongue unconsciously across his bottom lip and Derek shifts to cover himself, face turning red. “Sorry,” he mumbles, “I didn’t mean to-”

Stiles cuts him off. “It’s fine. Really. And I- oh man, I really, really want to help you out with that, and I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I think we should take things slow.”

Derek thinks about all the times he’s gone straight to sex with people and how awful that has turned out for him. He nods.

“Okay, so I’m going to go make us breakfast and you can do whatever you need to do and I’m going to try really hard not to think about it because you are gorgeous right now and I want to kiss you all over but it’s not a good idea for either of us and I cannot believe I’m cock blocking myself like this.”

“Stiles, breathe.” Stiles sucks in a deep breath and smiles. “Thank you,” Derek says, meaning it. “I don’t think I could have said no, and you’re right, having sex right now would be a bad idea.”

Stiles blows out a long breath, nods. “Gonna go now. Come out when you’re ready.” He squeezes Derek’s hand and slips out of bed and through the door. Derek jerks off into the toilet and he’s glad Stiles doesn’t have werewolf senses so he doesn’t have to worry about him smelling it, even though there’s no way Stiles doesn’t know anyway.

Stiles has reheated the rolls and made a pile of scrambled eggs for breakfast. They don’t talk much while they eat, but it’s nice. He could get used to this. He helps Stiles clean up and then Stiles goes to get dressed. He wishes Stiles didn’t have to go. He wants to beg him to stay, but it’s not fair, and they’re supposed to be taking this slow. It scares him how much he already wants Stiles to be here all the time.

“Alrighty, this time I actually have to go,” Stiles tells him.

“I know.”

“Can I kiss you?” Derek nods and Stiles puts his hand on his neck and pulls him forward into a soft kiss. “Is it incredibly schmoopy to say I miss you already?”

“Definitely,” he teases him.

Stiles pokes him in the side, “Jerk. You don’t deserve me.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Derek tells him soberly.

“Hey,” Stiles is instantly serious, “Don’t say shit like that. I’m going to go home before I shower you with a whole bunch of sentimental things that I want to say to you right now, ‘kay?” He presses his lips to Derek’s again, a little harder now, and it’s difficult for both of them to part ways. “I’m coming back soon,” Stiles assures him, as if he can hear the question Derek’s too afraid to ask. “You’re not getting rid of me. I’m going to be here so much you’re going to be sick of me.”

“Okay, I’m holding you to that.” Stiles gives him one more kiss and a beaming smile before he’s out the door. It leaves Derek reeling a little, his whole world tilting on its axis in the best way possible. There’s something blossoming in his chest that he hasn’t felt for years. It takes him a long time to name it-

Hope.

  
  


 


	2. Chapter 2

Derek has been dating Stiles for three months and it’s a lot harder not to have sex than he ever thought it would be. He hates to admit that Stiles is right about anything, but boy was he right about them not having sex. He didn’t know how much he had relied on it. It’s fairly chilling when he thinks about all the things he’s covered up with sex: hurt, sadness, anger. He knows he fucked his way through half the population of New York after he and Laura moved, but he thought that was kind of normal maybe, under the circumstances. It’s not until he’s a few weeks into dating Stiles that he realizes he has no fucking clue what an actual relationship looks like.

He starts taking it out on Stiles about two months into things. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He doesn’t know how not to push Stiles up against a wall and rut against him and forget about words and feelings for a while. Stiles is having none of it though. He’s always mature and wise when you least expect it and he’s far more patient about it than Derek deserves. The way he looks at Derek during those times, it breaks his heart. He wants to do better, but he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t know anything but using and being used.

Stiles isn’t a saint, so sometimes he gets mad too. Sometimes he yells at Derek for yelling at him and stomps home to sleep in his old bedroom, leaving Derek to curl up on the couch, breathing in Stiles’s scent to calm himself, reassuring himself he’ll come back, even though every time it happens he’s sure that Stiles won’t. He always does.

Last week Stiles decided that they need to start running together. They’ve been doing it most days now. They go out to the preserve, far away from the beaten paths and Stiles convinces Derek to shift into his wolf as they run, smiling down at him and scratching behind his ears. It feels better like this, letting his thoughts soften out, letting the wolf take over. The wolf is never conflicted about Stiles. The wolf adores Stiles and that’s it. They run and play for hours sometimes, until Stiles is dripping sweat, his laughter breathless and happy in the warm air.

Today they’re on the couch, neither of them paying attention to what’s on TV as Derek traces his finger up and down Stiles’s arm. “You should write me a love letter.” Stiles says suddenly.

“A what now?”

“A love letter,” Stiles says with more authority. “I was reading about how to build intimacy without sex and stuff, you know, and it said writing letters can help.”

Stiles has this way of saying stuff out of the blue like it’s nothing. Huge things that make Derek’s head spin. Stiles has been reading about _what_? Of course Stiles is researching their relationship. He shouldn’t be surprised by this stuff anymore.

“You still with me, big guy?”

“You want me to write you a letter?”

“Yeah. That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”

Actually, Derek always did pretty well on his writing assignments in school. Even then he found it easier to put his thoughts on paper. Then it hits him like a ton of bricks- the last love letter he wrote was to Kate. It was a note, but still, the closest he’s gotten to love letters is the stuff he used to write to her. It makes him want to throw up. All these years later and the thought that he wrote anything like that to her, it makes him ill.

“Hey, what’s going on?” It takes him a minute to realize Stiles is stroking his arm, eyes worried.

“I just,” He takes a deep breath and forces himself to continue, “I realized the closest I ever came to writing a love letter was to Kate.”

Stiles’s face immediately goes pinched and angry, but Derek knows by now it’s not directed at him. Stiles hates Kate for what she did to Derek, not to mention all the other shit she’s pulled in the time he’s known her. “It was just a stupid thought. You don’t have to write me a letter,” he says quickly.

Stiles is not Kate. Nothing in the world could be clearer to Derek than that. Maybe writing Stiles a letter wouldn’t be so bad. “I’ll think about it, okay?” He says, smoothing the worry lines out of Stiles’s brow.

Stiles is like a cat, he loves to curl up on the window seat in the afternoon sun and take a nap when he can. They’re having a lazy day today, so Derek isn’t surprised when Stiles does just that, humming contentedly to himself as he settles and then falling asleep almost immediately. For his part, Derek gets up and starts quietly digging around for paper and a pen. He’s seized with the feeling that he needs to write Stiles a letter instantly, and he knows he won’t be able to settle until he does.

Writing materials finally in hand, he sits down cross-legged on his bed and begins to write.

 

_Dear Stiles,_

_I can’t say it was love at first sight. I was too worried that day. I’d just lost my sister, there was a rogue alpha on the loose, and two obnoxious teenagers were poking all over my land. You know the story. What I can say is that even through all that, I was startled by your beauty. You are so beautiful Stiles, I don’t think you know it. Your mouth, your eyes, your voice, even then, I felt something when I looked at you._

_I’m sorry for the way I treated you in the early days. It was wrong. I shouldn’t have touched you like that, slammed you into things, hurt you. Yeah, we were both stupid and we both said and did  a lot of things we didn’t mean, but I was older. I should have done better. Anyway, I’m sorry. I was so damn scared all the time, and I didn’t know who to trust. All I’d had holding me together since I found out about Kate was anger. It was the only thing that kept me alive, the only thing I knew._

_It was the only thing I had until I met this stupid kid who was gorgeous and obnoxious and stubborn and loyal and who wouldn’t let me die. I kept thinking you’d leave me. I thought when you dropped me in the pool that you wouldn’t come back. I thought maybe you really would leave me by the side of the road to die of that wolfsbane bullet. You were all harsh lines and rough edges back then, I knew you only needed me to help Scott, but some small part of me started hoping that maybe you’d begun to care about what happened to me too._

_We’ve been through a lot together. We probably both need therapy, I’m not even joking. I’m fucked up, and so are you, but somehow that’s okay. Somehow you make it okay, Stiles. And I know I’m a coward for saying these words for the first time in a letter, but I love you. I love you so much it makes my heart ache. I’m scared to lose you and that’s why I keep saying and doing dumb shit, even now. I think if I push you away, then somehow it will hurt less when you leave me, but nothing could make losing you okay. I love you and I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me._

_Derek_

His hands are trembling as he folds it up and writes Stiles’s name on the front. It’s the most honest thing he’s ever written and the thought of actually showing it to Stiles is making him so scared he thinks he might actually have a panic attack. Then he thinks about all the shit he’s put Stiles through lately and he decides that Stiles deserves the letter. He doesn’t deserve Derek putting up walls and blocking him out, not after everything he’s done for him.

Stiles is blinking sleepily in the sunlight when he pads back out to the living room in his bare feet, still feeling shaky. “Whatcha’ got there?” Stiles asks, sitting up and stretching.

Derek shoves the letter at him before he can chicken out, “Here.”

“You wrote me a letter?” Stiles’s smile is so big it looks like it might break his face. He’s already unfolding it with eager hands. The smile fades as he reads and he’s sitting there with his mouth hanging open, reading line after line, heart fast and fluttery in Derek’s ears. He doesn’t know what it means, and it’s killing him, not being able to read Stiles in this moment. He sits on the couch, hands clenched into tight fists and waits for Stiles to finish.

Stiles finishes and folds the letter, carefully smoothing it out and laying it on the bench beside him. Then he crosses the room and climbs into Derek’s lap, knees straddling him on either side. He holds Derek’s face in his hands and his voice sounds absolutely wrecked when he speaks. “That is- nobody has ever written or said anything to me like that, Derek. Holy crap, you are amazing.” He presses his forehead to Derek’s in that way he likes to do, smoothing his thumbs over his cheekbones. “I love you too. So fucking much, Der.” They kiss a long time after that, warm and wet and gentle, hands soft and soothing. Maybe they cry a little too, but that will be their little secret.

Stiles is gone for work when Derek wakes up in the morning, but there’s a yellow sticky note stuck to the bathroom mirror, words scrawled in Stiles’s messy handwriting, with a lopsided heart at the end. _For me, it was love at first sight_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this story! I have some more ideas for this verse, so if you're interested at all in reading more, let me know. You can also find me over on tumblr or Twitter as Sophee83. Pop on over for a chat or just to squee over our beautiful boys with me.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s Wednesday, and Stiles is sitting on the window seat, one leg curled underneath him, the other hanging off the side, swinging against the wood with a soft thud every few seconds. Derek would grouch at him about it usually, but Stiles is clearly not in the mood. He smells off. Nervous? Maybe. He’s not entirely sure what Stiles is up to. He’s got a pen and a notepad, but he doesn’t write that often. Mostly he stares off into space, chewing on his pen in that way that Derek always finds utterly distracting. Occasionally he scrawls hastily on the pad before chewing on his pen again, or sometimes chewing on his lower lip, something that makes Derek want to get up and chew on it for him. God, Stiles’s mouth is a work of art and that oral fixation he has going on is not doing anything for Derek’s bid at keeping sex out of the equation. 

Derek forces himself back to his book, blocking out Stiles as much as he can because there are too many scents coming off him to keep straight, so he knows it’s best to let him work it out on his own. He’ll come to Derek eventually. 

Eventually ends up being an hour later. Stiles’s lower lip looks worse for wear, and he runs his hand through his hair, making it stick up all over. It’s a nervous habit he’s never quite managed to kick. He shoves a crumpled piece of paper at Derek. “Here. I wrote you a letter. It’s dumb. It’s not anything like what you wrote for me, but I tried? Okay?” He sounds almost angry, and if Derek didn’t know him better, he might buy it, but he knows Stiles is just nervous for some reason, unsure in that way he still gets around Derek from time to time. 

He’s very curious about the letter now, but he sets it aside because Stiles is more important than his curiosity at the moment. He grabs Stiles by the wrists, thumbs soothing back and forth until Stiles stops fidgeting and manages to meet his eyes. “Whatever it says, I know I’ll love it, okay?”

Stiles nods, but scowls at the floor. Derek drops his wrists finally and picks up the letter while Stiles slinks back to the window seat,  sitting down and curling his knees up as tight as a lanky 19 year old can. He can’t help smiling a little bit as he starts to read. There’s a lot of stuff scribbled out and of course the handwriting is horrible, but it’s Stiles in every word and that? Well, that’s pretty perfect. 

_ Dear Derek,  _

_ I figure it's only fair I write you a letter since you wrote one for me. It’s not going to be like yours though cuz like, that was romantic. You fucking romanced me, dude. There's no way I can do that. So yeah. Anyway.  _

_ We both fucked up in the beginning, you know? I mean, I wasn't all that nice or understanding to you either. I was scared of you and I have this thing where if I'm scared of something I either (a) ignore it and hope it goes away, or (b) figure if I kill it I won't have to deal with it anymore. It's not healthy, but whatever. _

_ I meant it when I said it was love at first sight. Sure, it was lust at first sight too and I didn't realize it was more, so I dunno if that counts, but yeah. There was this pull. Like something in my chest, a rope tethering me to you. Then you got hit with that wolfsbane bullet and I thought you were going to die and it was like someone was trying to rip out a chunk of me. I couldn't understand it, how I felt so frantic, how I felt like I couldn't lose you even though I didn't even like you. Maybe there was some fear that if we lost you there'd be no hope for Scott, I get that, but it was more. Anyway, I'm not good with words like you are, Der, not the ones that matter. God knows I can talk a blue streak but when it comes to stuff like this...just, you're the best person that I know. I mean, other than my dad, you're the person that I trust the most. I guess you know me well enough to know how big of a deal that is. I don't even let myself think about losing you that's not even, like, just no, k? _

_ Oh God, this is going to sound so sappy, but that’s what love letter are for, right? Anyway, when I used to picture us together it was like those steamy novels Lydia used to leave lying around. Like all hot, heaving bodies and sex, you know? But, (I’m officially going to blush just writing this. Might as well turn in my man card right now) you know how we made dinner together last night? Just in the kitchen, talking about nothing, teasing each other, kissing without it going anywhere...it’s pretty awesome, man. Someday I want, you know, the physical stuff. I’m gonna make love to you so hard, Der, believe me on that, but this is so much. Um...I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but you make me feel soft?? Like not in a bad way, but just gentle in that way I’ve never been that good at being. Some days I remind myself of my mom and that’s...that’s a really good thing. It makes me happy. You make me happy.  _

_ I hope you’re okay with never getting rid of me. Stiles  _

Okay. Derek is trying really hard not to cry right now. He’s only succeeding a little. “We’re ridiculous,” Stiles mutters, getting up from the window seat. “We are the actual worst.” But he wraps Derek up into a hug and they stand there holding each other in the middle of the loft for several long minutes. Out there are monsters, and people who ask nosy questions about their relationship, and jobs, and everyday life. Out there Derek is still mostly intent on not showing any weakness, and Stiles is still jagged lines and pain hidden behind snark. But in here they are in their own world. Here is where they show each other all the things they’ve kept hidden from everyone else for so long. It’s both terrifying, and the most safe he’s ever felt. So he holds Stiles closer and breathes and knows it’s okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I don't have a beta. Let me know if you see any mistakes. Hope you enjoy this addition. I have a couple more up my sleeve, I think.


End file.
